


pink cheeks

by moegan



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Cute, Cute Ending, Cutesy, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Piccolo Sucks at Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:15:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23724433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moegan/pseuds/moegan
Summary: You love to make Piccolo blush. But what happens when he turns the tables on you?
Relationships: Piccolo (Dragon Ball)/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 107





	pink cheeks

The mix of pink on green makes something swell inside of you that you can only attribute to pride. 

It’s easy to get Piccolo to blush, that much you’ve found on your own. You only need to bring up his soft side - the way he worries over Gohan and Pan like they’re his own children, the fact that he knows his own limits, the mannerisms he’s picked up from the other earthlings.

You’re an earthling yourself, barely muscular enough to call yourself a fighter, but you still give him a hard time every chance you see him. You’d never admit it aloud, but it’s mostly to see that flustered look on his face, the tips of his ears and nose burning just a bright as his cheeks.

“Aside from being sexy, is there anything else you do for a living?”

Piccolo grunts, turning away from you so your eyes only catch the beginnings of his blushing cheeks. He crosses his arms over his chest, towering over you at more than seven foot tall. You love the way he dwarfs you and yet still allows you to poke fun at him, as if you have the magic touch to tame him. 

You tap his hip, finding the purple fabric underneath his heavy white cape, “Seriously, I wish I were cross-eyed so I could see you twice whenever I look at you.”

You’re turning your head, craning around so you can get a better look at his face. The only reason he isn’t really pushing back against your advances is because the two of you are somewhat secluded on the bow of Bulma’s boat as the others congregate on the deck for food and drink.

The sunshine is warm on your back and your gauzy cover up does leave little to the imagination. You wonder if he’s thinking about your body underneath the clothing, what you’d feel like in his large hands, nails drifting down your torso.

“Damn, is your gear made of boyfriend material?” You pretend to marvel at his clothes, thumbing a bit of the cloth between your fingers. You look up at him all serious like, praying that he understands it’s a joke. What you find surprises you.

Dark eyes are roaming over your face, the deep green color of his face paling in the sun, a freshly pinched look on his cheeks. You want to reach up to touch his face, but he’s too far away. That might be the only downside to Piccolo’s height - the inability to grab him by the neck so you can tell him how you really feel. 

“Can you not contain yourself for even a moment?” he grumbles, tightening the grip he has on his own biceps.

You laugh and poke him in the side before leaning across the railing, hands in front of you as you soak in the afternoon sun, “I like it when you get flustered. Means you care.”

“Or maybe it means I think you’re acting immature,” Piccolo deadpans.

You’re rolling your eyes even though his comment hurts you just a little. You scoff, “Oh, you sad, sad man. I know you think I’m irresistible. You can admit it.”

A strangled noise clogs his throat and you find yourself laughing at him, covering your mouth with your palm. He grips the railing in front of him, knuckles turning viridescent, “Do you have to be so loud?”

He’s close enough now that you can tap him on the nose, leaning into him so your arms are pressed against one another, “If I weren’t so loud, you wouldn’t be so close.”

Piccolo is grumbling to himself, forcing his gaze away from you and towards the water. Nonetheless, he is sharing the same space as you, bent at the waist so he does not tower over you nearly as much as when you’re normally stood next to one another.

“Do you say these things because you enjoy making me look foolish in front of the other fighters?” Piccolo asks after a couple of minutes of silence. The smell of grilled meat and fried rice wafts from the main deck and your stomach growls. He chuckles, shaking his head, “I swear your whole existence is set out to embarrass me.”

You turn to look him in the eye, knocking your hip to the railing to keep your body upright, “Absolutely not. I mean, not really. I don’t want to emasculate you, but I know it’s the only way I’ll ever get a reaction from you.”

“You could just ask,” he states plainly.

This is one of the reasons you enjoy teasing him so much - most of the nuances fly right over his head at first. Eventually he comes around to the conclusion that you’re teasing him, trying to get a rise out of him, but it takes a moment. And you always relish in that moment.

It’s your turn to blush from your neck up, the creeping pink color tainting your skin. Piccolo chuckles at the sudden change in your demeanor, “What, you can dish it but you can’t take it?”

“N-No,” you stammer, shoving him. “Just unexpected, is all.”

He leans in close, a smirk on his face, “Well, maybe it’s about time you start taking it instead.”


End file.
